


Get It On

by goblinsandgold



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Humor, Multi, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:21:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28209738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goblinsandgold/pseuds/goblinsandgold
Summary: In which the Winchesters take a long overdo vacation, and seduce Castiel.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 11
Kudos: 64





	Get It On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [karmascars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karmascars/gifts).



> Years ago, karmascars requested a wincestiel fic where the brothers seduce Cas. The setting was a fancy hotel room with one of those crazy champagne glass jacuzzis. It took me way too long, but I finally got it done! 
> 
> I didn't mention a specific hotel is in this fic, but I based the room loosely off of a picture of Cove Haven in Pennsylvania. This is set in a season 6 where Sam never went to the cage, because fluff. 
> 
> Is the title from Bang A Gong by T. Rex, you ask? Why yes, yes it is.

Dean was used to motels. The single room, with its tacky décor and flimsy shower and, if he was really lucky, magic fingers. Places where luxury was a free, stale muffin or a handful of cookies, or a vending machine that sold cream soda. Maybe a decent hot tub with weak jets, or a pool that wasn’t too filthy. Or really, just anything more than a space with two beds.

Which meant his brain stuttered to a halt and then just kind of fell over and died when he opened the door to their current hotel room.

“Dean!” Sam crowded up behind him, shoving at his shoulder with the hand that wasn’t holding his bag. “Let me see!”

Dean blinked, and let himself be pushed into the rooms. Yeah, rooms—there were at least three. The door led immediately into what might as well have been a living room, with a thick, wine red carpet and a set of plush white chairs, along with a couch, that were set in a semi-circle around an electric fireplace. To his right, an open door showed off a bedroom (with a single, king sized bed) that was the size of their usual motel room. To his left and past the fireplace, another open door showed off what looked like a ridiculously huge bathroom with white-and-black tiled flooring.

The real item of interest, though, stood between two pillars—fucking _pillars_ —in roughly the center of the room, beside a spiral staircase carpeted with that same wine-red. It was a jacuzzi, but the damn thing was shaped like a massive champagne glass. It even had the frosted look, with a hint of blush around the actual tub. The website had said it was seven feet tall. Dean could remember looking at the photo when Sam showed it to him and thinking it was ridiculous, but now that he was actually in the room with it… yeah, okay, fine, he wanted to try it out.

“Holy shit." Sam let out a low whistle. “Why don’t we do this more often?”

Dean snorted and tossed Sam a look that he desperately hoped said “oh come on, this is too much,” but he was pretty sure he failed spectacularly if Sam’s chuckle was any indication.

“We’d have to scam a lot more cards,” Dean said, shrugging.

He dropped his bag by the door and wandered into the bedroom. The bed looked stupidly soft. The thick blanket was a shade lighter red than the carpet, and he could see perfectly white sheets folded over it near the top, under equally white pillows. He had a sudden, child-like urge and thought, screw it—he dove onto the bed face-first, arms spread wide, groaning in bliss when the whole thing enveloped him in a fluffy hug.

“Sammy, you gotta—” Dean started, then let out a loud “oof!” as Sam flopped onto his back. “Hey!”

“What?” Sam wriggled around on top of him until his crotch was lined up with Dean’s ass and shit, he was already half hard and they hadn’t even started their plan yet. Sam settled there, shoving his arms under Dean’s chest and smashing their cheeks together. Dean squirmed and bucked a few times like he hated it, but they both knew that, ever since they finally tipped over into… well, whatever the hell they were now… Dean couldn’t get enough of the contact. Probably making up for a lack of it as a kid or some other equally psychological bullshit.

“What, you know what,” Dean muttered, hiding his grin. “You’re like a million pounds, man.”

Sam was apparently too content to put up a fight—he just hummed and nuzzled into Dean’s temple like the giant puppy he was.

“We should get goin’,” Dean murmured, muffled by the pillow he was steadily sinking deeper into. Sam was warm, he was always incredibly warm, and his weight was weirdly comforting, and despite the low simmer of excitement that Dean had been feeling since they had this idea a week ago, all Dean wanted to do right now was sleep for a week.

“Mm-hmm.” Sam nuzzled him again and let out a contented sigh, and pointedly didn’t move.

Fuck it, a nap wasn’t going to throw them off too much.

*

The idea had been planted almost nine days ago, when Castiel came for a visit. Without any warning, as usual, he’d just popped into their cowboy themed motel room in Cody, Wyoming, where they were hunting a poltergeist. Sam had jumped slightly, but Dean was so used to blinking and finding an angel suddenly standing in front of him that he’d just reached into the cooler beside the bed and offered Cas a beer.

Cas had taken it, which had been the first clue. Since Jimmy had moved on and left Castiel alone in the body, things affected him more—food, alcohol, temperature. Instead of an entire liquor store, it now took exactly nine beers, or six shots of whiskey (yes, Dean kept track, shut up) to get Castiel mildly drunk. He still didn’t do it often, but when he did, it was usually because he was stressed. Though he didn’t talk about it much, Dean got the impression he despised being Heaven’s “sheriff” and would much rather be sitting in the back seat of the Impala, digging through Sam and Dean’s bags with no regard for privacy and demanding that Dean play Pink Floyd's _Learning To Fly_ one more time.

The second clue had come when Castiel sank down onto the bed beside Dean until their shoulders were firmly pressed together, and proceeded to watch TV with him. No hello, nothing. He just sat there, warm all down Dean’s side, heaving pissy little sighs between beers until his gaze was hazy with the alcohol and his head was drooping toward Dean’s shoulder.

Oh yeah, that was another thing Cas did now—sleep.

Dean had eventually passed out with Castiel snoring into his neck, but when he woke up the angel was gone (and the cooler had been refilled with beer because at some point, Cas had learned to be considerate). It was Sam who brought it up, while Dean was scarfing down two sausage and egg biscuits— _do you think Castiel needs a vacation?_

“You think he’d go for that?” Dean had asked thickly around a mouthful, grinning when Sam made a face.

“Gross, Dean,” Sam had muttered, shaking his head. “And yeah, maybe. We could all use one. There’s something… well, it’s stupid, but there’s this place a couple hours outside of New York, it has… well, just look.”

He’d spun the laptop around and, flushing, waved a hand to indicate the website he’d pulled up. Dean had been momentarily distracted by the redness staining his brother’s cheeks—he looked so damn cute when he did that. Sam could spew the filthiest shit Dean had ever heard in his life during sex with a perfectly straight face, but apparently wanting to try out a goofy jacuzzi in a fancy hotel room was too much for him.

It was a couple of days later, after Dean agreed to the room if only because Sam wanted to do it, that Sam had said (while he was driving, so Dean couldn’t get away, the dick), “Dean, you know I… um. You know I know, right?”

“Huh?”

“That, uh. You and Cas…” Sam had waved a hand between them uselessly for a moment before heaving a sigh and blurting quickly, “That you love him.”

There’d been a moment of heavy silence as Dean stared straight out the windshield, refusing to even twitch in Sam’s direction. There was no point denying it. It was kind of difficult to not love the guy who’d yanked him out of Hell and then gone and given up everything he’d ever known just because Dean asked him to. He loved Cas the way he loved Sam—in a kind of all-encompassing, label-defying sort of way that was just there, it was just known. At least, he hoped it was known. Sam knew because Sam spoke his language (or more accurately, his silences), but Castiel was still struggling with pop culture references and took everything completely literally, so… maybe he didn’t know.

That thought had distressed the hell out of Dean, more than he’d wanted to admit, so instead of thinking about it he’d shrugged, and said in the same kind of hurried rush, “Yeah fine, but you know I wouldn’t…”

“No, I know!” Dean was glad the road was mostly empty because Sam chose that moment to look over at him with wide, earnest eyes, and if he crashed Baby that wasn’t going to save him, damn it. “I just meant… it’s okay, is what I meant.”

“What? Sam, watch the road!”

Quickly (and with some relief, Dean thought), Sam had looked away. “Look, I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Since… well, since before you and I finally went for it, actually. I almost tried pushing you toward him and just letting you go—” Sam held up one hand to stop Dean when he started sputtering out a protest. “Obviously I’m not that strong,” he’d continued, smiling that little, crooked, self-deprecating thing that Dean kind of despised, if only because Sam should never hate himself. “But look, I’d be okay with. Um. If he wanted to, obviously. If he became a part of… us.”

A thousand responses had chased each other through Dean’s mind, but the only one that made it out was, “Just okay?”

“Er.” Sam’s fingers had begun to dance nervously across the steering wheel. He’d glanced in Dean’s direction before snapping his gaze back to the road as a light flush spread across his cheekbones. “Really, really okay.”

That had left Dean too stunned to answer for a good five or six miles. He’d just sat there, staring blankly out the window while images of Sam and Castiel touching, making out, _fucking,_ ran gleefully unchecked through his mind, until the evidence of exactly how much that affected him became painfully evident and Sam had pulled the car over and blown him right there on the side of the road.

The thing that made Dean’s heart beat faster and his mind go into overdrive was that it was possible. Cas knew about Sam and Dean’s relationship—had, in fact, pushed them toward it. Apparently, gay incest just wasn’t that big a deal to an angel. Or maybe it was just the unique circumstance, who knew, Dean had never really asked for details. Whatever the case, so long as Castiel’s feelings toward them were strong enough, so long as he was into the idea… it could work. And that both terrified and thrilled Dean.

So, the vacation plan had, over the next week, turned slowly into a “seduce Castiel” plan. Which would work a bit better now that he experienced his body’s full range of human sensation, though Dean had actually kind of forgotten that while he and Sam were tossing ideas around. Dean’s full focus had been on touch, something the angel had experienced fully even before Jimmy’s loss, but Sam wanted to do things with foods and flowers and maybe that crazy jacuzzi that, okay yeah, Dean _wanted_ to make fun of… except they all sounded like really kind of awesome ideas.

Lying there on the insanely soft bed, half-under his warm, warm brother and only a little awake, Dean let all of this tumble through his mind with none of the urgency he was so used to. There was no rush. They didn’t have to call Cas right now, and they didn’t have any cases waiting for them. Bobby had even agreed to call other hunters until their three days at the hotel were up. Dean couldn’t remember the last time he was this relaxed.

Sam stirred against his side, still sound asleep… at least, most of him was. One particular bit was perky and poking Dean insistently in the hip. Chuckling, Dean reached back and awkwardly cupped not-so-little Sammy.

Sometimes, Dean was still a little surprised by just how okay he was with all of this. He’d spent most of his life focused completely on women, with only the occasional thought wandering through his mind—what would another guy feel like in his hand? Would kissing one be different? He’d always buried the thoughts under tits and girly giggles—not necessarily because he was thinking about men, but because his mind would, inevitably, wander to his brother. To the thick muscles in Sam’s arms and thighs, the broadness of his back and shoulders, the hard shape of his mouth. He’d convinced himself they were just thoughts, they didn’t mean anything, not really. It was some little part of him that was curious about the other side of the fence, and his brother just happened to be the guy he saw most often, that was all.

That had made it almost a relief when Dean’s dick decided it really liked Castiel’s vessel. After a while, it really liked the way Castiel moved that vessel, too—having met Jimmy, Dean could confidently say it was Cas he found attractive, even if that didn’t make a whole lot of sense to him. The best part had been that he could fantasize about Castiel without (much) guilt. Especially once that body became _his,_ and not just a thing an angel was riding.

As much as Dean fantasized, it still came as a shock the first time he and Sam finally broke (after some eye rolling and stern words from Castiel) and Dean got his hands on another dude’s junk for the first time. Not a shock in the bad, holy-hell-get-the-fuck-away-from-me sense, but rather in the can’t-get-enough sense. Turned out, Dean really loved cock. He liked it in his hand, in his mouth and, on the rare occasions he and Sam had the time and desire, in his ass. It took him a while, but eventually he accepted that he liked it just as much as he liked chicks, and that it was fine, and for once in his life he just let himself be.

Almost casually, Dean started stroking Sam through his jeans, grinning to himself as he imagined having both of them. Sam and Cas, at the same time. Not just in bed, but all the time.

He was glad Sam was asleep so he didn’t see the giddy grin that was trying to crack Dean’s face in half.

Sam’s hips abruptly rolled into his hand, and Dean wiped the stupid look off his face before he flipped on his side. His brother was blinking sleepily at him, sliding one huge hand up from Dean’s shoulders to rub at his eyes like a child, and Dean experienced a weird moment of complete adoration and arousal at the same time.

“Mm, that’s nice,” Sam murmured, rolling his hips again. “Wha’ time izit?”

Dean glanced at the clock on the wall over the doorway. “Almost noon.”

“Mm.” Sam tucked both hands under his chin and burrowed back down into the pillow.

“You goin’ back to sleep?” Dean asked quietly.

“Little bit. You can…” Sam briefly lifted one hand to wave down at himself before closing his eyes.

Dean grinned. There was something incredibly arousing about playing with Sam when he was half, or even fully, asleep. He was just so warm and pliant, and he’d make these little grumbly noises like an overgrown squirrel.

Popping the buttons on Sam’s fly, Dean worked jeans and boxers down just enough to expose Sam’s hips. He thought about rolling Sam on his back, but he looked so comfortable snuggled into the pillow that he decided against it. Instead, he kicked off his boots and pushed his own jeans and boxers off entirely, and hooked one leg over Sam’s hips so he could line them up just right.

Dean was only half-hard, but pressing his cock into the warm hollow of Sam’s hip got him the rest of the way in just a few thrusts. It was far too dry, but Dean was feeling too lazy to go all the way back to the front door for the lube in his bag. He gently rolled his hips, falling half-asleep again with the lulling effect. Heat built in his pelvis and slowly, slowly spilled outward until he was coming with a soft little gasp.

Sam hadn’t followed him, so Dean oozed down until he could suck Sam’s cock into his mouth. He felt boneless and sated, and didn’t feel like pushing himself, so he suckled at the head and worked the rest with his hand until he felt Sam grow just that little bit harder before he spilled over Dean’s tongue. It wasn’t exactly a taste Dean loved, but he swallowed anyway—if nothing else, it was easier clean-up.

Above him, Sam made a few tiny, grunting noises and then gave a soft sigh and settled deeper into his pillow, and Dean passed out with his head tucked into Sam’s stomach.

*

When Dean woke again, his head was smooshed into Sam’s hip, and Sam’s body was shaking.

“Sammy?” he mumbled, cracking one eye open. Sam’s soft cock was right there, and Dean had an absurd urge to see if he could suck the whole thing into his mouth like that, balls and all.

“Um.” Sam giggled. Fucking giggled, the giant child. “Dean, you kinda…” a long finger poked Dean’s head. “You’re sorta stuck to me.”

“What?” Dean tried to pop his head up and Sam’s skin came with him. “Oh, hell!” He jerked away, ignoring Sam’s yelp as the dried come yanked at his skin.

“It’s your fault,” Sam sniggered as Dean tumbled out of the bed. “You should’ve cleaned me up first!”

“Shut up, Sam.” Dean flipped him off as headed for the bathroom, resisting the urge to run his fingers through his hair—he really didn’t need to know just how much of his own come had dried in there.

The bathroom had not only the giant, sunken tub, but a huge shower as well, with three heads and glass walls. The pressure was so good it almost stung, and Dean sighed happily as the thick spray began to clean away the evidence of his laziness. Maybe they could make this an annual thing. A we-survived-another-year sort of celebration.

Big arms wrapped around his shoulders abruptly, and Dean found himself swaying into Sam’s embrace even as Sam moved them more fully under the spray. He tipped his head back, ignoring the water rushing over his lips, and grinned stupidly up at his brother.

“This shower is awesome.”

Sam nodded. “I could get used to this.” He dipped his head to press a sweet, chaste kiss to Dean’s lips. “I could get used to seeing you this relaxed, too,” he added, smiling against Dean’s mouth.

Dean flushed, and smacked Sam on the bicep. “Shut up,” he grumbled. “Wash my hair, bitch, you’re the one who messed it up.”

“I’m not the one who thought that was a good place to stick my head, jerk!” Sam laughed, but he obligingly took a bottle—still a mini, but some kind of brand-name, high end shit they’d definitely never gotten in a motel—of shampoo from a shelf to his left and dumped the entire contents into his hand. He spread the thick gel between them and stepped back, instructing Dean to step out of the spray before he dug both hands into Dean’s hair and got to work.

It wasn’t so much a perfunctory wash as it was a full-on scalp massage. Sam worked the shampoo until Dean could feel the suds sliding down his back, then arched his fingers so he could rub the tips in firm little circles. The low rumble of sound that came out of Dean might as well have been a purr. Sam made his way down to Dean’s neck, then turned him so he could rub his shoulders, thumbs digging into tense muscles along Dean’s spine until they surrendered. By the time Sam was turning him back around and coaxing him to tip his head into the spray, Dean was so relaxed he wasn’t really sure how his legs were still keeping him upright.

“We’re never gonna make it at this rate,” Sam panted five minutes later, as Dean straddled his naked waist and rutted against him—with lube, this time.

“It’s fine,” Dean said breathlessly, giving a particularly firm grind just to see Sam throw back his head—and how could he say no to that neck? “We’ve got three days.”

They took another nap after that, sprawled all over the nice, soft carpet, and by the time Dean woke up he was feeling so refreshed it almost seemed unnatural. He pulled on an old, soft pair of faded blue jeans and, after some debating, a (tight) black t-shirt, but left his feet bare. He was almost never in a position where he could just kick back without his boots, much less be completely barefoot, and he was going to enjoy the hell out of it while he could.

There was a TV in the bedroom, attached to the wall, so Dean wandered in there and watched a couple random episodes of a show called Bones until Sam walked into the room, fully dressed and as bright eyed and bushy tailed as though he’d been awake for hours.

“Ready to do this?” he asked brightly.

Dean turned off the TV and tossed the remote on the floor. He was nervous as hell, but there was no way he was going to let Sammy know that, so he just gave him his biggest grin and said, “Yup, what’s the plan?”

“I’m going to pick up that stuff I wanted to try,” Sam said. “And I think he’ll relax more if you go first. So, I’ll just be gone for… a couple hours?” he waited until Dean nodded. “Okay great, a couple of hours. So, you just pray to him once I’m gone.”

“What if he doesn’t answer?”

Sam snorted. “Come on, man, when was the last time he didn’t?”

That was true. Castiel really did seem to want to be anywhere but Heaven right now. “Yeah, fine, just…” Dean flapped his hands at Sam until he got the message and scurried out the door.

Dean waited until he heard the door click shut before he slid down to sit at the foot of the bed. He closed his eyes and said out loud, “Cas, you got your ears on? Want to—”

“Hello, Dean.”

Wow, that was fast. Dean’s eyes popped open and he grinned up at the angel, who wasn’t paying attention—he seemed fascinated by the room.

“This is not the sort of place you usually stay,” Castiel said.

“Nah, Sammy and I decided to take a little vacation.” Dean sucked in a deep breath, but anything he’d been planning to say was lost. Damn it, he’d spent all week thinking about how he’d go about getting Cas to relax, but now that the angel was standing there, it all fled his mind.

“That’s good,” Castiel said, nodding. “Breaks are important.”

“Yeah!” Dean agreed, pouncing on the opening. “Yeah, they are, and we thought maybe you could use a break, too.”

“Oh.” Castiel blinked. “I… suppose this is an alright time. There’s nothing pressing in Heaven that needs my immediate attention.”

“Great!” Dean got to his feet, then spent several seconds just sort of twitching in place—should he take Cas out to the couch? Get that stupid electric fire going? No, wait, that was too fast… TV! That was nice and safe. To start. Yeah. He ducked down and grabbed the remote, then gestured (just a touch too wildly) to the bed.

For a moment, Castiel stared at him—the almost blank stare that meant he was trying to figure out if Dean was being odd or not. Then he shrugged and, in a blink, was sitting on the bed with his back against the headboard, hands folded in his lap and legs straight out in front of him.

“Dude.” Dean lost some of his nerves in a fit of chuckles. He shook his head and waved a hand to Cas’s shoes. “Part of unwinding means going casual.”

Castiel tipped his head in that bird-like way of his, then looked down at his shoes. “I should take them off?”

“Yeah. Get comfortable.”

Cas frowned, like he was considering just poofing them off his feet, but then he folded himself over and reached down to untie them. The oh-so-human move from the angel who’d just flown five feet from the doorway to the bed made Dean grin like an idiot, and he quickly turned away to hide it from Cas.

While he flipped mindlessly through channels, Dean listened to the sounds behind him. The rustling, the two soft thumps of the shoes being tossed onto the floor, and then Cas made a sound—just a little sort of murmur in his throat, surprised but content, and Dean had to turn around. Apparently, Cas had decided his socks also needed to go, and he was now digging his bare toes into the bedspread with a tiny smile on his face—his equivalent of a full grin.

Dean swallowed a squeak, and whirled back to face the TV.

God, they were just toes, what the hell was wrong with him? He’d never had a foot fetish. He didn’t think he did now, either, he just… he’d never seen Cas’s feet, that was all. He’d never seen anything of Cas’s body except his face, neck, and hands. It was just new.

Subtly (hopefully) shaking himself, Dean took a few slow breaths and landed on what he was pretty sure was one of the Hellboy movies. Sam was going to laugh his ass off if Dean was still this awkward by the time they teamed up—he really needed to get it together.

Tossing the remote onto the bedside table, Dean sat as casually as he could manage on the edge of the bed before swinging his legs up and tucking himself against the headboard next to Cas. He left about an inch of space between them—way less than he would usually, out of pure habit, insist on, but considering Cas had been blatantly ignoring Dean’s personal space rules for about a year now, he wasn’t likely to notice.

Nudging Cas with his elbow, Dean tried for his most casual grin and said, “Coat, too.”

*

An hour later, Dean was surprised to find himself into the Hellboy movie (and rooting for the monsters, what the hell). Still, his enjoyment hadn’t distracted him from his goal, which was to get Cas out of his trenchcoat, jacket, and tie. The coat was now on the floor beside the shoes, and around five minutes ago Dean had successfully gotten Castiel out of his jacket, but they were still working on the tie. It was a little loose and a bit crooked, just as usual, but unlike usual Dean frequently found himself spacing out on what little of Cas’s throat he could see. He kept thinking about how sexy Cas would look without the tie and with the shirt unbuttoned just enough to see his collarbones, and then he’d blush like a goddamn teenager and have to force himself to look at the TV again.

The thing was, this wasn’t his specialty. Sure, he’d seduced the pants (literally) off loads of chicks, but that was different. For one, Dean had a confidence around women that seemed to abandon him completely around men (or man-shaped angels), and two, that was purely for the kind of sex that lasted one night—two at the most. In and out (ha), nice and simple. But this wasn’t just about sex. Dean wanted Cas to relax and enjoy himself, and to… well… feel things. Yeah. There were feelings involved here. Feelings that Sam just knew, so Dean didn’t have to try and communicate them, and feelings had never exactly been his strong suit…

Dean sighed and, to distract himself, reverted to the age of five and reached over to yank on Cas’s tie.

“Dean?” Castiel slowly dragged his gaze away from the TV.

“Take it off.” Oh yeah, great, that didn’t sound suggestive _at all._ How the hell was he supposed to feelings-seduce Cas when he couldn’t even get the words right?

Jerking his hand away, Dean stared stubbornly at the TV for another few seconds before he caved and turned to look at Cas, who was already staring at him with the tippy-head and the slightly widened eyes—his version of a bemused look. Dean felt that damn flush flooding into his face again and had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from retreating like a coward.

Fortunately, Castiel either didn’t notice or chose not to call him out on it. Instead, while never breaking eye contact, he loosened his tie enough to pull it over his head, and tossed it down to join the rest of his clothing.

“There ya go.” Dean cleared his throat and refused to accept that he’d just squeaked a little. “Here, just…” quickly, before he could lose his nerve, Dean undid three of Castiel’s buttons and yup, there were those collarbones and oh great, Dean really wanted to lick them. Awesome. “There!” he said loudly. “Now you can relax properly.”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest and let himself chicken out just enough to turn back to the movie. On screen, Hellboy was carrying a mouthy corpse on his back.

“I wasn’t aware that relaxing required the removal of clothes.”

“Mm-hmm.” Wow, that corpse was an asshole.

“Dean?”

“Mm-hm?” If Cas asked him if he needed to take his shirt off, Dean was pretty sure he was going to explode.

“I like this movie.”

Dean was somehow disappointed and tickled at the same time. “Yeah, me too,” he said, tipping his head back to offer the most relaxed grin he’d managed yet. And then he had to go and ruin it by blurting out, “Hellboy’s kinda hot.”

What the… what? Dean blinked once, then again, but it didn’t magically suck the words back down his throat. Great, just where in the hell had that come from? Was he _that_ kind of (little bit) gay? But then he really thought about it—Dr. Sexy definitely wasn’t any kind of small, and that wrestler he’d been really into as a kid was buff as hell, and Sam was all kinds of ripped, and damn, yup, fine, so he liked muscles. Whatever. So long as Sam _never_ found out.

Risking a quick glance sideways, Dean found Cas frowning up at the screen—the thoughtful frown, with the little furrow between his eyebrows and the slight pursing of his lips, and Dean just had to ask, “Do you, uh… do you find anyone physically attractive, or is that not hardwired into an angel?”

Castiel didn’t answer for so long that Dean was about to accept that he just wasn’t going to, but finally he said, “I appreciate souls more than bodies, but I can… I believe I’ve developed an ability to appreciate bodies.”

“Yeah?” Great, this Dean could do, he was a goddamn expert at this. “So?” He elbowed Cas again, offering the wide grin he used to goad Sam into bodily throwing Dean onto the nearest flat surface (yeah, Sam could definitely, _definitely_ never find out how much Dean liked his muscles).

Castiel stared at him blankly. Dean rolled his eyes and gestured to the TV.

“Oh.” Castiel gave a single shake of his head. “No one on the movie. I believe I understand your appreciation for Hellboy, though. He’s very strong.”

And the blush was back, awesome. “Don’t tell Sam,” Dean muttered, and then he almost jumped right out of his skin when Cas chuckled. Getting him to smile had gotten a lot easier over the last year, but laughing was still a rarity.

“I won’t,” Castiel promised, but the bastard was still smiling and his eyes had gone all crinkly around the corners and it was all ganging up to make Dean mushy and desperate to kiss him.

Not yet, damn it, not yet. Too soon. Still, Dean let himself cave a little bit by sliding that inch sideways until their shoulders were pressed together. Cas was warm through the thin fabric of his shirt, and just as pliant as any normal human. Suddenly curious, Dean poked Cas in the thigh, the waist, and then just beneath his collarbone—yup, the skin gave just like it should.

Castiel didn’t say a word, but when Dean glanced up to see how this unprovoked poking was being received, his eyes were all crinkly and warm again.

“Sorry,” Dean muttered. “Just, I remember when I hit you in the green room, and I’m pretty damn sure the only reason I didn’t break my hand is ‘cause you turned your head. You felt like stone, man.”

“Mm.” Castiel looked down at himself. “It took me a while to learn to reside fully within my vessel. Now that it’s my own body, it’s… easier.” The frown that furrowed into place suggested that wasn’t quite the right word, but Dean didn’t ask and Cas didn’t try again.

“Well, it’s nice,” Dean mumbled to his own knees.

When the movie ended, Dean sucked up every little ounce of courage he possessed and suggested they try out the electrical fireplace. Castiel ended up endearingly fascinated by the device that produced fire with nothing but the flick of a switch. Any plans Dean might have had about getting cozy on the couch were promptly abandoned in favor of repeatedly flipping the switch, just because it made Castiel smile.

“Humans really are very creative,” Castiel said eventually, when he’d finally grown tired of the trick.

As casually as he could manage, Dean cast a glance at the clock—this one hanging over the main door. It had been almost two hours, which meant Sam would be back soon with whatever it was he wanted to try, and Dean hadn’t managed to do anything but get Cas out of half of his clothes.

“Dean?”

Blinking, Dean looked up from where his gaze had wandered to the general direction of Cas’s bare feet. The angel was doing his head-tilt, eyes just slightly widened in question. Asking if Dean was alright.

“Hey, sorry, zoned out,” Dean said quickly. He gave himself a mental slap in the face and flopped down onto the couch beside Cas before pulling that classic old move of the yawn and stretch. Classic, not cliché.

“Are you tired?”

“Nah.” Dean offered a distracted grin—yup, he’d done it just right, he had just enough space to… “Probably got too much sleep, actually.”

Castiel opened his mouth to answer, but what came out was a surprised huff as Dean cupped his hand around the back of Castiel’s neck and began to lightly massage. Every damn muscle in Dean’s body tensed and his grin froze to his face, until Cas murmured, “That feels nice,” and Dean let all the tension escape in a relieved sigh.

“Good,” he said, and then stopped talking. If he kept talking, he was just going to fuck this up. Sam was the talker—not just the mushy-feelings sort, but the come-in-your-pants sort. Literally, they’d tested this.

Dean’s hand almost quit its massaging motion, and despite himself his eyes did widen because now, only now, it occurred to him to wonder how Sam was going to approach this when he came back. Was he going to talk? Was he going to talk to _Cas,_ in that low, husky tone he got when he was taking control of a (decidedly sexual) situation? Would he be demanding the way he was with Dean because he knew how much Dean got off on that, or would he approach Cas with more caution, more gently? As much as Dean melted whenever Sam got pushy (at least where sex was concerned), somehow the opposite was more appealing in his head when Cas was in his place. The idea of Sam coaxing Cas, like he was luring the angel into falling in a whole new and much better way—

Great, now his jeans were too tight and there was no way in hell he could subtly adjust himself without Cas catching him at it.

Speaking of Cas—the angel’s head had drooped forward so that his chin was almost resting against his chest, and his eyes were half-closed. It was probably the most relaxed Dean had ever seen him, and it gave him the extra burst he needed to say, “Turn around.”

“Hm?” Castiel sort of tipped his head in Dean’s direction, but otherwise didn’t move.

Chuckling, Dean got both hands on Castiel’s shoulders. “Put your back to me, just… yeah… no, pull your legs up… yeah, there you go.”

It took some shuffling, but after a minute Castiel was folded up on the couch with his back to Dean and his arms around his own knees, and Dean didn’t waste any time getting his hands back on him. The shirt was in the way, but Dean figured (he was too much of a chicken) it was too early to take it off just yet.

“Oh.” Castiel arched back slightly when Dean dug his thumbs into either side of his spine. “That feels very good.”

“Good.” Dean cleared his throat—that had come out a lot rougher than he intended.

It took about ten minutes for Dean to get up the nerve, but he started slowly working up over Castiel’s shoulders. He rubbed his thumbs into the angel’s neck for several long seconds, then took a breath and flattened his hands, sliding them just under the front of Castiel’s shirt. His skin was incredibly warm—almost fever-warm, but Dean figured that was just human skin trying to contain a Chrysler building’s worth of grace. He paused there, waiting to see how Castiel would react.

The reaction was slow. Castiel didn’t move for a moment, then let out a sudden, soft sigh and asked, “Why did you stop?” in an even gruffer tone than usual that went straight to Dean’s already damn uncomfortable dick.

“Sorry,” Dean murmured. He pulled his hands free of the shirt and took the first (or really the fourth) button between his fingers. Slowly, giving Cas plenty of time to object, he popped it free, and started on the next one.

Shit, this was happening. Cas was letting him take it off. He even unfolded himself enough to let Dean easily reach the lower buttons, and rolled his arms back when Dean tugged at the fabric. The shirt slithered to the floor and Dean had a quiet panic attack as he fought his natural instinct to run, while at the same time trying to pick where to touch first.

He firmly told his instincts to fuck off, and flattened his hands to Castiel’s lower back. It was stupid, but he felt like every damn nerve had tipped into overdrive, trying to soak up everything at once—the heat, how unnaturally smooth his skin was, how fine the little hairs were in the small of his back. He pressed in and pushed his palms up either side of Castiel’s spine and fuck, it felt good to touch him, even if this body wasn’t _really_ him.

Then again, maybe it was now.

Dean’s hands were starting to ache (but like hell he was stopping) when Sam came through the door, a paper bag clutched in one hand. With a herculean effort and what was probably way too wide a smile, Dean said, “Hey, Sammy,” as casually as he could manage, like it was perfectly normal for Sam to walk in and find him cozied up to a half-naked angel. Once again, Dean mentally slapped himself—this was _their_ plan, it wasn’t like Sam was catching him at anything they hadn’t discussed in detail.

For a moment Sam just stood there, one hand on the doorknob and the other tightening around the handle of the bag. Shit, was he rethinking this? Dean’s hands paused mid-way down Castiel’s back, which prompted a huff of protest, but Dean ignored it in favor of arching one eyebrow at Sam. _Is this still okay?_

Sam blew out a sharp breath. He swung the door closed and came right up to the couch so that Dean could see his eyes and oh. His pupils were blown.

Right. This was still very okay.

“Hey, Cas,” Sam said, as smooth as you please, damn him. He set the bag down on the floor and pulled one of the white chairs closer before perching on the edge of the seat. “He’s good at that, isn’t he?”

“Mm.” Castiel didn’t even lift his head, and Dean felt a surge of envy for the angel’s complete lack of knowledge when it came to social norms. “Hello, Sam. Does Dean do this for you?”

It was so innocently curious, but Dean still felt a surge of heat at the question because hell yes, he did, and Sam did it for him, and it usually resulted in lazily humping against each other.

“Yeah, it’s nice after a bad hunt,” Sam said, easy, like this was just a normal conversation. “I bet you’ve been carrying around all kinds of tension in your body—vessel. Without realizing it.”

“Mm.” Castiel managed to lift his head a little. Dean couldn’t see the look on his face, but judging by Sam’s sharp intake of breath, it had to be a doozy. “I forget sometimes, that this is mine now. That it… feels more.” He sighed. “Even when I don’t want it to.” And then, like he sensed Dean’s hesitation before Dean himself did, he twisted his head over his shoulder just enough to cast Dean a sideways glare and muttered, “I want it to right now.”

“Right,” Dean said, chuckling weakly, and kept smoothing his hands down Cas’s spine. His hands were definitely aching now, and he was going to have to stop soon, but he was reluctant to move away from all that heat.

“Yeah, sometimes having a body is a pain in the ass.” Sam bent suddenly, shuffling around for something in the bag. “But sometimes it’s pretty great, too. Have you experimented at all? I know you’ve had coffee, but does it have a taste for you?”

“I like coffee,” Castiel murmured—then, a little louder, “I can taste, Sam. Why?”

“Because…” Sam pulled a small, red box free of the bag and wiggled it in Castiel’s direction. “If you want, I think we should start your food education.”

“Oh.” Castiel leaned forward slightly, forcing Dean to follow him. “What is that?”

“Chocolate.” Sam ripped off the plastic covering and popped the top. Curious himself, Dean leaned over Castiel’s shoulder to get a better look. They looked like those fancy truffles, the kind people got for each other on Valentine’s day. Somehow, when Sam said he wanted to try something involving food, Dean hadn’t expected candy. “And later, maybe, we can get you a latte or something. You don’t have to drink coffee like Dean does. He thinks black coffee is manly.”

“Because it is,” Dean muttered stubbornly, but he was immediately distracted by Castiel chuffing out a soft laugh.

“Dean has strange ideas about masculinity,” Castiel said, like Dean wasn’t _right there._

“Hey,” Dean grumbled. He slid his hands up to Castiel’s shoulders and let them rest there, building heat between his palms and Castiel’s skin. “Maybe Sam’s the one with weird ideas.”

“Whatever makes you feel better,” Sam said without looking at him, which meant Dean couldn’t flip him off. Not that he would—short of another apocalypse or monster attack, there wasn’t much that would make Dean take his hands off of Cas right now. “Here, Cas.”

He held out a dark chocolate. Castiel reached for it—and Sam quickly pulled his hand back.

“Ah ah.” Sam smiled, the small, slow one that never failed to make heat flare in Dean’s belly. “Open up.”

Castiel cocked his head, but in the end seemed to decide it was worth getting a taste and opened his mouth. Dean had to lean out so he could see Castiel’s face as Sam placed the chocolate on his tongue. Of course, Cas didn’t know there was anything odd—or intimate—about that, but _Dean_ knew, and he damn near exploded when Sam’s fingers touched Cas’s tongue, even if it was just for a second.

Sam sat back, and briefly caught Dean’s gaze. Dean really hoped his eyes communicated that he thought Sam was a goddamn genius.

Oblivious to the looks being exchanged around him, Castiel chewed slowly, his brow furrowed into that little thoughtful frown again. He swallowed, and his frown deepened. “It’s bitter,” he said. “I don’t think I like it.”

“You like the coffee,” Dean pointed out.

Castiel shrugged. It made the muscles in his back ripple and Dean’s hands spasmed on Cas’s shoulders.

“Here, try this one.” Sam held out a milk chocolate. “It'll be sweeter.”

Castiel opened his mouth right away this time, even extended his tongue slightly, which should have looked ridiculous but somehow just forced Dean to swallow a whimper. He shoved a hand into his pocket, trying to adjust himself while Cas was distracted.

“I like that one.” Castiel smiled and scooted a few inches forward on the couch, opening his mouth again like a baby bird waiting to be fed. Sam immediately gave him another, and another after that, this one white.

That one made Castiel screw up his face into a grimace, which might have been the most expression Dean had seen on him since the brothel. “I do _not_ like that,” he said decisively.

Sam laughed. “Right, no white or dark, you like it right in the middle. Got it. Here, Dean.” Sam tipped the remaining five dark chocolates into his palm and held them out. Reluctantly, Dean removed his other hand from Cas’s shoulders to take them. “You don’t like the white either, right?”

Dean shook his head. “Nah, too sweet.” He popped one of the darks into his mouth and oh, damn, these were really good. Sam definitely went for the higher end stuff.

“Cool, more for me.” Sam popped a white into his mouth before holding out another milk for Cas. This time, he let his fingers brush over Castiel’s bottom lip as he withdrew, and Dean had to shove the rest of the chocolate into his mouth to keep from making any embarrassing noises.

The remaining three milk chocolates were set one at a time on Castiel’s tongue, and with each one Sam lingered a little longer—rubbing his thumb over Cas’s bottom lip, brushing his knuckles along Cas’s jaw, each touch a bit bolder than the last. The muscles under Dean’s hands remained loose and pliant, and after the final chocolate Castiel let out a soft, contented sigh and without warning leaned back against Dean, forcing him to wrap his arms around Castiel’s shoulders.

“Whoa, did we break you?” Dean chuckled and squeezed his arms around Castiel, smiling.

“I like this relaxing,” Castiel said, his voice somehow even lower than usual.

“Yeah?” Dean nuzzled Castiel’s cheek with his nose, unable to help himself. He was weirdly, deeply satisfied with how calm Castiel was, how heavy and warm he felt.

“Mm.”

Over Castiel’s shoulder, Dean met Sam’s eyes and nodded toward the bag.

‘Not yet,’ Sam mouthed at him, pushing the bag back with his foot.

If he hadn’t had an armful of warm, pliant Cas, Dean would have definitely gone after the bag—he felt like he’d been waiting forever already. Instead, he patted Castiel’s shoulder with one hand and started to open his mouth, only to be interrupted by a truly impressive snore. Dean’s jaw went slack and he stared at the side of Castiel’s face, which was slowly sinking further onto Dean’s shoulder.

“Cas?”

Another snore was his only answer.

“Huh.” Guess they’d helped him relax a little too much. Dean carefully slid out from behind Castiel and arranged him on the couch, stuffing one of the cushions under his head and wincing as his hard-on informed him that it needed taking care of _nowrightnow._ “I guess— _Sam!_ ”

What would have been a yelp came out a hissed whisper as Sam fell to his knees and yanked Dean’s jeans down his thighs in one go, and when did he even have time to undo the fly, and—and Dean had more important things to think about, like Sam’s lips wrapping around the head of his cock.

“Fuck!” Dean hissed. He buried his hands in Sam’s stupid (wonderful) hair and just held on as Sam went to town—he couldn’t deep throat, never had managed that, but he took as much as he could and worked his hand along the rest, and in what was probably an embarrassingly short time Dean was watching Sam’s throat work as he swallowed down Dean’s release.

“Fuck,” Dean panted again, and sank to the floor with Sam’s arms guiding him. He let his head fall back against the cushions, hair brushing Castiel’s bare arm.

Smirking like the damn Cheshire Cat, Sam sank down beside him. He was buttoning his jeans back up, which was disappointing and a relief at the same time—Dean wasn’t sure he had the energy to give Sam more than a sloppy handjob right now. Not that Sam ever complained to a sloppy handjob, but still.

“Getting tired, old man?” Sam teased.

“Shut up,” Dean grumbled. “What’s the plan?”

Sam shrugged. He twisted around to look at Castiel’s face, tipped so that it was almost snugged right up against the back of the couch. He had one hand curled under his chin, and Dean had to admit, if only in the privacy of his own mind, that he looked pretty cute—and more peaceful than he’d ever seen him, too.

“Let’s let him sleep,” Sam whispered. He reached up in the kind of thoughtless way he often did with Dean to brush the backs of his knuckles over Castiel’s cheek, and Dean grinned to hide the soppy smile that wanted to take over his face.

*

Cas slept solidly for almost three hours, which worked out in their favor. It gave Sam and Dean time to recover, and to plan out stage two—which, so far, involved Dean sitting in the chair that had been pulled up close to the couch, and Sam sitting on the sofa arm twirling the second object from the bag.

It was a rose, deep red and fully bloomed. Because Sam was a giant, soppy romantic who couldn’t just get some regular flowers, no, he had to go straight for the cliché. Part of Dean wanted to make fun of him for that one, but after Sam had explained his intentions, well. Dean was feeling pretty open to the idea.

They’d settled into their respective positions about twenty minutes ago, and Sam had apparently decided he wasn’t waiting any longer because he’d just lowered the rose to Castiel’s arm, right above his elbow. He paused there, watching, but aside from shifting his face away from the back of the couch, Castiel didn’t move—so Sam began to softly drag the flower along Castiel’s skin. Up to his shoulder, lightly swirled around his ear—that produced a soft snuffle and a tiny smile. Then over Castiel’s eyelids, along his jaw until the petals came to rest over his lips. Sam held it there a moment, staring down with parted lips and narrow, focused eyes, like it was just the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. Swallowing hard, Dean sunk a little deeper into the chair so he could spread his legs, and silently agreed. The deep red petals were striking against Castiel’s pale skin, and Dean was starting to forget why he’d thought the rose was so funny.

A soft inhale alerted them to the fact that Castiel was waking up, and something flashed against the petals, pink and wet and gone so quickly that it took Dean several long seconds to realize it was Castiel’s tongue. Sam inhaled sharply at the same moment Dean’s eyes widened. It had to be an accident, there was no way… but then it happened again, just as Castiel’s eyes slid open.

“Hi,” Sam breathed, and then he cleared his throat. “Hi,” he tried again.

“Oh.” Castiel sat up slowly, practically dragging his face against the rose. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to sleep.”

“It’s okay,” Dean assured him when Sam seemed too enamored with the sight of the red petals against the back of Castiel’s neck to answer himself. “Looks like you needed it.”

Castiel’s face twisted into a kind of squinty glare, like he was displeased with his body’s limitations, but it quickly melted into a half-lidded look of contentment as Sam continued to trail the rose over his shoulders. “That feels nice.”

Sam blinked several times, then shook his head sharpy. “Good,” he said, voice pitched low this time and oh, Dean knew that voice. That was Sammy’s I’m-taking-control voice. “How about this?”

He began to swirl the petals against Castiel’s skin, drawing circles slowly down one side of his back until he reached the waistband of Castiel’s slacks before tracing a path up the other side. Cas gave a soft sigh, and then another when Sam drew a line straight down his spine. He arched his back, muscles rippling as he rolled his shoulders, and Dean was glad now that he and Sam had fooled around so much already because it kept the renewed ache between his legs at a nice, easy simmer.

“That’s very nice,” Castiel murmured after a moment. His eyes were closed again, and as Dean watched the tip of his tongue came out to wet his lips. If it had been anyone else, Dean would have sworn it was intentional. Even the curve of Castiel’s back, the way he was slowly arching to expose his throat…

He only just managed to bite back a _holy shit._ The bastard was doing it on purpose. Dean looked up and found Sam had paused, rose resting mid-back. A slow, sharp-edged grin was forming and yup, he’d realized it, too.

“Dean,” Castiel growled suddenly.

Well, there was no way that tone wasn’t getting his attention. Dean’s gaze snapped to Castiel’s now open blue eyes. “Yeah?”

“ _Come here._ ”

Dean was out of his chair and on his knees between Castiel’s legs before he’d finished speaking the words. He was distantly aware of the rose being tossed onto the carpet, and of Sam’s hands sliding over Castiel’s shoulders, gripping tight like he could hold the angel in place. The fact that Castiel let him hold him in place took Dean from gentle simmer to boiling-blood in less than three seconds.

He was just getting a hand around the back of Castiel’s neck, fingers sliding into the thick hair there (something he’d fantasized about more than once), when Castiel suddenly said, “I’m sorry. I thought I could be more patient.”

“How long have you known what we were doing?” Sam asked curiously. His thumbs had begun to knead absently into the muscles on either side of Cas’s spine, just like Dean had done for him earlier, but his attention appeared to be focused on the way Dean’s fingers had begun to comb through Castiel’s hair.

“Since I arrived.” Castiel’s eyes cut away to linger somewhere between the couch cushions, a move Dean had long since learned meant he felt guilty. “Your thoughts were very loud,” he added quickly.

“You said you quit reading our minds!” Dean barked—although he didn’t stop petting Cas because like hell was he letting something that trivial stop him now.

“Dean, you were practically yelling at me,” Castiel grouched, eyes wandering a bit until they landed on Dean’s… hip? Crotch? His dick gave an interested twitch.

“Uh.” Dean blinked. Right, mind-reading. “Sorry?”

That startled a chuckle out of Cas. “It’s… not the first time,” he admitted with a wince. “But I didn’t know how to approach either of you, so this was very welcome.”

A kind of strangled cough made Dean look up. Sam’s hands had frozen and his eyes were wide. “Uh, Cas? Just what kind of things did I yell at you?”

Castiel tipped his head back so he could meet Sam’s eyes. “You’re very creative, Sam. I particularly enjoyed the one where we had Dean between us in the shower.”

“Oh, god,” Sam groaned, taking his hands from Castiel’s shoulders so he could bury his face in them.

“Wait…” Dean sat back on his heels, glaring up at his brother. “How long exactly have you been thinking about this?”

Because sure, Sam had made it clear he was more than okay with the idea of all three of them being a… a thing, but not that he’d been thinking about it, _fantasizing_ about it!

“A while,” Sam admitted in a small voice, made even smaller by the muffling effect of his palms. “Cas, you’re not, you’re not looking right now, are you?”

Instead of answering, Castiel tipped himself even further back to eyeball the glass-shaped jacuzzi behind them. “I’m not sure that is large enough for what you’re thinking, Sam.”

“I’ll make it work,” Sam muttered, letting his hands fall. He was flushed and laughing quietly at himself, all traces of take-charge Sam gone.

“Wait.” Dean blinked up at the jacuzzi. “You wanna fuck in that thing?”

Sam shrugged helplessly. “I thought it might be fun.”

“We’ll fall out!” Dean tried to imagine two grown men and one giant writhing around in a glass full of bubbles and started sniggering. “We’ll probably break it.”

What Dean didn’t say was that it wasn’t exactly a nice… that is, a good… oh fuck it, a _special_ first sexual experience for Cas. Although, it was probably a hell of a lot better than the one Dean had tried to force on him before they went after Raphael, but still.

It would be a fun one, though. Just suds and slippery skin and trying to find out what made Cas feel good.

“I’m in,” Dean said, before he could second guess himself. “But, uh… hang on.”

Using the hand he still had in Castiel’s hair, Dean guided him forward until he could lean in and kiss the angel. Nothing fancy, just a soft press and huh, despite their chapped look, Castiel’s lips were surprisingly soft. He pressed a second kiss to the corner of Castiel’s mouth, and then a third, firmer kiss because he just couldn’t help himself, had to gently suck that lower lip in and give it a soft bite. That earned him a whine and all of a sudden Castiel had Dean’s head in both hands, was tipping them until they fit just that little bit better, and when he opened his mouth and swiped his tongue across Dean’s lips, Dean couldn’t have stopped the groan that rumbled up from his chest if he tried.

When they broke apart, Sam was there to take Dean’s place, his hand joining Dean’s at the back of Castiel’s neck. Where Dean had a tendency to work up to something deeper, Sam dove right in to wide and filthy, and judging by the little groan Castiel released he was more than fine with that. Dean watched from what was probably far too small a distance, jeans once again uncomfortably tight, which abruptly prompted him to look down and yup, there was a definite bulge straining against Sam’s jeans. Castiel’s slacks were boasting a small bulge as well, and when Dean threw any remaining caution out the window and let himself cup it, he felt it begin to grow larger under his palm.

A lot larger.

Dean might have drooled a little.

“Come on, come _on_ ,” Dean growled suddenly, grabbing fistfuls of hair and shirt and whatever else he could get a decent grip on, hauling both of them off the couch because fuck finesse, he wanted skin. Sam broke away from Castiel with a soft gasp but immediately turned his attention to Dean, giving him the same open-mouthed treatment, forcing his way inside because he knew how much that got under Dean’s skin.

Well, two could play that game. Dean turned his head to break the kiss and mouthed his way up Sam’s jaw, got momentarily distracted by biting at the soft lobe of Sam’s ear before he murmured, “Come on, baby boy, let’s get our angel naked.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Sam hissed, and Dean smirked.

The stumble up the stairs to the jacuzzi was a little bit hilarious. Sam tripped while trying to remove his and Dean’s shirts at the same time and almost crashed into Castiel, who was fumbling at his own pants like a fly was the most complicated thing he’d ever come across in his insanely long existence (while walking backwards up the stairs, because apparently losing sight of the Winchesters for even a second was unacceptable). Yanking off the t-shirt Sam had only managed to ruck up under Dean’s arms, Dean knocked Castiel’s hands aside and had the button undone and zip down in seconds. He laughed at the thunderous glare Castiel directed first at his pants and then at his own hands, and on a whim, he leaned in to kiss the tip of Cas’s nose, which made his face briefly scrunch up and set Dean off all over again.

“Don’t worry, Cas,” Sam said, chuckling as he elbowed a still-gasping Dean out of the way. “Excitement can make anyone clumsy.”

He winked, hooked his hands into Castiel’s pants, and yanked. Dean went from trying to breathe through his laughter to not breathing at all—Sam had pulled Cas’s boxers down as well, and damn, Cas was big. Not as long as Sam (his brother was just shy of nine inches and yes, Dean knew that for a fact) but he looked a little thicker, and to Dean’s surprise, he wasn’t cut. Not that he’d seen a ton of dicks, but still, somewhere in the back of his head that was just a normal thing.

Sam was stepping out of his jeans now, apparently unfazed by the head of Cas’s dick peeking out from its very own hood. Maybe Sam had seen more dicks than Dean and wow, hello little green monster. Dean couldn’t decide if he was jealous of the idea of Sam having seen (handled?) other dicks, or just the fact that the dicks weren’t his (and Cas’s) and oh, there was a thought.

Grabbing Sam’s wrist and ignoring the yelp of surprise as he yanked, Dean shoved Sam’s hand gracelessly onto Castiel’s crotch. Always quick on the uptake when it came to the random things Dean found arousing, Sam quirked a cocky little grin in Dean’s direction and wrapped his long fingers around Cas’s cock, pushing it up toward his stomach so that Dean could see Sam’s thumb pressed just under the head, rubbing lightly at the foreskin.

The punched-out little whine Castiel released was just the cherry on top of a very pretty picture.

“You ever touch yourself, Cas?” Dean asked, trying to ignore how breathless he sounded. He worked frantically at his own jeans, watching avidly as Sam moved to gently pull the foreskin up over the head of Cas’s dick. What the hell, it was just a bit of skin—but damn if it wasn’t hot as hell watching Sam manipulate it, watching Cas’s eyes fall closed as he panted, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“N-no,” Cas stammered.

Dean’s stupid jeans were finally pushed down his thighs. He kicked them away, utterly unconcerned about where they landed, and took the one step to put him level with Sam. Cas was one above them. He was still standing there with his fists clenched, shaking, as if he thought movement of any kind was forbidden while Sam was… was playing with him, fuck, there was no other word for it.

They still had four steps to go to get to the top, and Dean wasn’t sure they were going to make it.

Pressing himself right in against Sam’s side, Dean got one handful of Sam’s gloriously firm ass and brought his other hand up to stroke down Castiel’s chest. “Hey.”

Castiel drew in a sharp breath, and opened his eyes. His pupils were blown, leaving only a thin ring of blue.

“Hey,” he answered gruffly, with just a hint of a questioning lilt at the end.

Dean grinned. “You can move, dude.”

Castiel started to speak, and Sam chose that moment to breathe, “Fuck, I really want this in my mouth,” (a sentiment Dean could heartily agree with). The next second, Castiel had one hand gripped tight around the banister and a fist shoved in his mouth, muffling a strangled yell as he came all over Sam’s fist, still somehow managing to hold his hips perfectly still.

The banister splintered with a sharp crack.

Dean stared dumbly as Sam crowded in close to Castiel, nuzzling into his throat and smearing his come-slick hand all over Cas’s belly. “That,” Sam growled, “was hot.”

“I… I didn’t…” Castiel panted. He tipped his head to give Sam more access to his throat and groped around with the hand that had broken the banister before he found Dean’s shoulder and pulled him in. Despite the destruction behind him, Dean went willingly, pressing a somewhat frantic kiss to Cas’s temple.

“That why you weren’t moving?” Dean asked, tipping his head back toward the banister.

Castiel nodded. He opened his mouth but was derailed again when Sam licked around the shell of his ear—his eyes blew wide and his mouth fell open around a quiet moan. Personally, Dean didn’t care much about his ears getting any attention—it felt nice, but he could live without it. Sam, on the other hand, would go batshit if Dean pulled the same move he’d just pulled on Cas, and Dean made a mental note that both of his guys liked their ears played with.

That was possibly the weirdest thing he’d ever thought.

“Worried about breaking us, Cas?” Sam asked before he took the lobe between his teeth and bit softly. Dean threaded his fingers into the hair at the nape of Cas’s neck at the same time, and for a moment the angel seemed to forget how to do anything but pant.

“Yes,” he finally ground out. “I am a little worried.”

Dean was a little worried, too… about the fact that the added danger sent a thrill zinging down his spine.

“You won’t hurt us, Cas.” Sam shifted to nuzzle at Cas’s temple.

“I’m glad you trust me,” Cas muttered, almost grumpily, and why was that so damn cute?

They finally managed to stagger up the last four stairs, and by the time Sam knelt to get the water going, Cas was already hard again. Huh, non-existent angel refractory period. That could be fun.

“Should we go all out?”

Dean tore his gaze away from Cas and looked up to find Sam wriggling a little bottle of bubble bath at them, grinning ear to ear. Dean shrugged, like he didn’t really give a shit either way, but Sam’s wink said he’d seen right through him.

“This is deeper than I thought,” Sam called over his shoulder as he poured the bubble bath under the steaming rush of water. “Might take a bit to fill.”

“Mm-hmm,” Dean hummed, grinning as he dropped to his knees. Castiel’s eyes widened as he watched Dean’s hands curl around his hips. “Fine by me.”

“Hey!” The bottle fell with a clunk, viscous liquid oozing across the floor as Sam scrambled toward them. “I said it first!”

“I got here first!” Dean crowed, and dove, and fuck, Cas really was thicker than Sammy, and when Dean tried to take him down his throat (which he _could_ do, ha!) he choked and was forced to pull back. Still, worth it to hear Castiel’s strangled shout, to feel his hips buck once against Dean’s hands before he forced himself to still.

Dean got in three good bobs of his head before a big hand curled into his hair and yanked him back. The sharp sensation shot straight down his spine to pool in his pelvis and make his toes curl, a reaction he didn’t bother trying to hide—Sam had surprised him with that one their second time and there’d been no hiding it then, either. While Dean was shuddering and trying to remember how breathing worked, Sam took his place.

“Cheating,” Dean panted.

The fingers in his hair tightened and Dean bit back a groan. Fine, Sam wanted to play it that way? Dean could do that.

While Sam was distracted (he had angled himself so Dean could see Sam’s tongue laving at Castiel’s foreskin, and Castiel had his palms ground into his own eyes and okay, Dean was in danger of getting distracted himself), Dean popped his middle finger into his mouth and got it good and wet before pressing his palm to Sam’s spine. Sam’s grip in his hair tightened, and Dean rode out the new wave of pain-warm sparks before sliding his hand down and thrusting his finger inside Sam without warning.

Sam attempted to swear around Castiel’s cock, which Cas was apparently more than okay with if his sharp whimper was anything to go by. Grinning, Dean gave Sam a few shallow thrusts before he pressed all the way in and just settled there, rocking gently.

Sam reared up with a gasp, grinding his hips back against Dean’s hand. “You’re an asshole.”

About a hundred comebacks chased each other around Dean’s mind, but Sam was a goddamn furnace inside and his hips were rocking into Dean’s hand in greedy little circles, and Dean just couldn’t bring himself to voice any of them.

“What are you… oh.” Castiel had removed his hands from his eyes, which were now locked on where Dean’s finger disappeared into Sam’s body. His lips parted and his pupils seemed to dilate impossibly further.

“Like that, Cas?” Dean coaxed Sam’s hand out of his hair and then pushed Sam down until his forehead was nearly touching the floor, giving Cas a better view. And then, on impulse, “You wanna fuck him?”

Sam hissed, “Yes, god yes,” at the same time Castiel’s knees decided to just give out on him and he crashed down beside Sam’s head. Sam immediately heaved himself up on his elbows so he could mouth at Castiel’s hip, but the angel’s gaze was so focused on Dean’s hand that he hardly seemed to notice.

“C’mere.” Dean crooked his free hand at Castiel, grinning when Cas knee-walked toward him. Sam whined at the loss of contact, but shifted his focus to grinding back hard against Dean’s finger.

“Oh,” Castiel said again, softly, his eyes widening as he settled between Sam’s legs and got a better look at Dean’s ministrations.

Dean chuckled. “Don’t suppose you can bamf us up some lube?”

There was a soft _whump-whuff_ of wingbeats and Castiel blinked out for maybe two seconds before he was back, clutching the little, red bottle Sam had bought for them while they were planning this whole thing. Some fancy shit that warmed up and tingled, apparently, which actually sounded pretty damn awesome.

“Great, get that on your fingers,” Dean instructed. His hand went still as he watched Cas fumble with the bottle, almost tearing the top right off in his haste and dumping what had to be at least a quarter of the contents onto his right hand. “Okay good, now—”

“Dean.” Castiel cast him an exasperated look. “I have been alive for thousands of years. I know how to finger a man’s anus.”

Sam let out the weirdest, sort of high-pitched giggle, and Dean barely managed to resist a face-palm that would have made Captain Picard proud. “Right,” Dean said, voice tight with barely contained amusement. “Knowing how to do something and doing it are pretty different, though.”

Castiel arched one eyebrow at him, and that was the only warning Dean got before one of Castiel’s slick fingers was sliding in alongside his own.

“Oh fuck,” Sam gasped, rocking back hard against them both.

Castiel smirked—actually goddamn smirked, and Dean was pretty sure that shouldn’t be so hot but fuck if it wasn’t sending all kinds of pleasant little tingles down his spine. “You don’t do this very often, do you, Sam?”

Sam shook his head. He was getting sweaty now, hair damp with it, lower back slick and shiny where Castiel’s free hand was suddenly smoothing over his skin. He looked like some kind of dirty god, but like hell Dean was going to tell him that—he’d be smug for weeks.

“Dean usually… mmm… he likes this a lot,” Sam groaned, and Dean stubbornly refused to admit how the words made his cheeks heat. “He’s a—” the words were lost under a series of gasping curses as Castiel slid another finger inside. “Ah, fuck. He’s a total cockslut.”

“Hey!” Dean gave Sam’s ass a sharp slap, but that just made the bastard swear and shove back harder. Hmm, he’d have to explore that later. Still, since that retaliation hadn’t worked, Dean worked another finger into him instead, smooth with Cas’s generous use of the lube, and for a moment he desperately wished he could reach his phone—he wanted to show Sammy how amazing he looked stretched wide on four fingers, how well he was taking it.

“Shit!” Sam actually banged his head against the tile floor, and his arms were starting to shake. “One of you get in me right now, I don’t care who.”

Teasingly, Dean rocked his fingers a few more times in counterpoint to Cas’s before withdrawing them carefully. Cas, on the other hand, seemed unwilling to leave. He pressed a third finger in, his other hand absently stroking up and down Sam’s back, eyes glazed and lips parted around little gasps he didn’t even seem to be aware he was making.

It was so fucking hot that Dean had to do something about it. That something turned out to be shuffling around behind Cas and draping himself over the angel’s back, pressing in close enough to slide his dick between Castiel’s asscheeks.

“Oh.” Castiel’s rhythm stuttered. He rocked back against Dean, twisting his head as though he could contort himself enough to get a good look.

Sam slammed his palm against the tile and hissed that they were both useless. Dean chuckled.

“Patience, baby boy, or one of us is gonna have to spank you.”

Castiel let out the strangest little whine at the same time Sam thrust a finger back to somehow point straight at Dean’s face without even looking. “We are _definitely_ doing that later,” Sam growled and fuck, as much as Dean loved Sam when he took charge, he had to admit he loved it just as much when Sam was shamelessly demanding.

“I’m game,” Dean said, and laughed when Sam actually did a little victory pump with his fist. “Cas?”

“I, uh.” Castiel shook himself. “Yes.”

While Cas was distracted, Dean snatched up the lube bottle. Remembering his reaction to it earlier, Dean leaned in to nibble gently along the shell of Castiel’s ear as he slicked up the fingers of his right hand. “Yes, you want to… watch? Help?” Dean asked, curious. The image of Sam over Castiel’s lap was a damn attractive one—but the reverse image was just as hot.

“Uh.” Dean tipped sideways to get a good look at Castiel’s face and saw him staring down at where his fingers were buried fully in Sam, eyes huge and hazy. “I…”

He looked almost as scared as he had in the brothel that day, and the memory gave Dean some kind of affectionate fit that made him press a kiss to Castiel’s cheek. “Hey, we can figure it out later. Assuming Sam doesn’t kill you first.”

“What?” Castiel blinked just as Sam pulled his hips forward enough to _shove_ them back.

“That means fuck me _now,_ Cas,” Sam snarled, and just like that Castiel was pulling his fingers free and reaching for the lube, which Dean had quickly replaced where he’d found it.

Dean leaned over Castiel’s shoulder to hungrily watch him slick his cock. God, he was definitely going to have to suck him later. Maybe he and Sam could do it together, maybe Sam could force his head down and _make_ him take that fat cock down his throat…

“Fuck,” Dean hissed, burying his face in Castiel’s throat. “There are so many things I want to do with you.”

“Yes.” Castiel said it so quickly he nearly tripped over the word, and it trailed off into a hiss as he lined up with Sam.

Dean grinned. He tilted his head back up and waited, waited for the moment the head of Castiel’s dick popped past the ring of muscle and Sam let out a relieved groan before he smoothly slid his middle finger into Castiel.

Every muscle in Castiel’s body seemed to lock. His hole clenched tight around Dean’s finger and Dean had to sink his teeth into the meat of Castiel’s shoulder to keep from moving, to just hold still and let Cas get used to the sensation.

Sam, on the other hand, was having none of the stillness. With a sharp, frustrated whine, he braced himself on his forearms and began rocking his hips back, taking a little more of Cas each time and fuck, that was just all kinds of hot.

Carefully removing his teeth from Castiel’s shoulder (and dropping a quick, apologetic kiss to the red skin), Dean murmured, “You okay?” in Cas’s ear.

A soft hiss and a quick jerk of a nod were his answer. Even though Cas couldn’t see him, Dean arched one eyebrow.

“You sure?”

“I’m…” Castiel blew out a sharp breath. His fists were clenched at his sides and his thighs were shaking.

“You’re not gonna hurt us,” Dean assured him. Slowly, he withdrew his finger and pushed back in with two, breath catching in his throat when the action earned him a sharp whine. Castiel’s head fell back against Dean’s shoulder, his mouth open in a soft little ‘o’ and his eyes half-closed.

“I’m trying,” Castiel panted. His hips stuttered forward and Sam groaned his appreciation.

“You’re doing fine,” Dean promised. He kissed the bite again, rapidly darkening into a bruise. “See? You let me do this.”

“Just because I let you hurt me doesn’t mean I won’t hurt you,” Castiel grumbled, and okay, only Cas could look so turned on and sound so grumpy at the same time.

“You’re way too coherent,” Sam panted. He had his ass shoved up against Castiel, as close as he could manage, and was grinding in tight little circles. He hadn’t touched himself yet, and though Dean couldn’t see from this angle, he still knew that the head of Sam’s cock would be blood-dark and slick with precome. The thought made saliva flood his mouth, but his fingers were still snugged up into Castiel’s warmth and there was no way he was abandoning his plan now.

“Cas.” Dean breathed the word directly into his ear, then sucked the lobe into his mouth, nibbled just to hear Castiel let out a soft cry. “Come on, let go.”

Castiel shook his head rapidly, but he was already leaning forward, his hands coming up to grip Sam’s hips. His own snapped forward and Sam let out a shout, his shaking arms finally giving out and forcing his upper body to crash down onto the tile. It seemed to break that last little thread of control Castiel had been clinging to because suddenly he was pounding into Sam like he was nothing more than a convenient toy—not that Sam was complaining. He arched his back and scrabbled at the floor with clawed hands, and Dean had the wild idea that maybe Sam could come like that, just like that.

Dean had to bite Castiel again, dig his teeth back into the bruise he’d made and suck to make it that much darker. Castiel hissed and arched his neck in a blatant invitation Dean didn’t hesitate to take him up on. He nipped his way up behind Castiel’s ear and, on a hunch, bit down hard again.

“Fuck!” Castiel barked, voice a graveled wreck, and Dean didn’t think he’d ever heard anything that sexy in his entire goddamn life.

Dean laved the bite with his tongue, and slipped in a third finger while Cas was distracted. He hardly even seemed to notice the new intrusion. “Like a little hurt, huh?”

Castiel nodded, just this side of frantic. “Dean, please.”

“Mm.” Dean bit down on the shell of Castiel’s ear, at the same time digging his thumb into the bruise. The choked little whimper that fell from Castiel’s open mouth went straight to Dean’s dick, which was really starting to object to being ignored for so long. “Please what?”

Castiel abruptly took one hand from Sam’s hip and arched it back over his shoulder, getting a handful of the longer hair at the top of Dean’s head and _yanking._

“Fuck me,” Castiel snarled, sharp and pointed and yeah, God himself couldn’t have stopped Dean from following that order. He had just enough presence of mind, as he slid his fingers out, to get his cock good and slick with the remaining lube clinging to his palm before he was lining up and sinking inside.

Cas was tight, and so goddamn hot, and Dean couldn’t have stopped the moan punching up from his chest if he tried. He tucked his face into the crook of Castiel’s neck and shoulder and just held himself there, terrified that if he moved it would all be over. Only Cas wasn’t giving him any time because his hips were still working into Sam, grinding now the way Sam had been grinding against him earlier, and Dean suddenly realized that he was kind of fucking both of them at the same time, and all the tension just snapped.

For a handful of seconds, it was awkward as hell. Dean was so gone that he couldn’t get himself under control enough to even out his thrusts, and Cas kept going still and stuttering into motion again, and Sam was swearing at both of them, one long chain of curses until Castiel finally found a rhythm that Dean fell into with an ease that might have been a little weird if he’d had any brain power left.

Dean’s hands were frantic, running up and down Castiel’s arms, groping at what he could reach of Sam’s thigh. At one point, desperately curious, he squeezed a hand in to trace his fingers around where Sam’s hole was clenched around Castiel’s cock—and then he couldn’t help himself, just had to force a finger in there alongside. He was expecting Sam’s sharp yelp—he wasn’t expecting the spastic bucking of his hips or the short, sharp gasps as he came all over the tile floor.

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean hissed, but anything else he’d been planning to say was lost as Castiel cried out and slammed up against Sam’s ass, shuddering as his own orgasm ripped through him and clenching hard around Dean’s cock before collapsing over Sam’s back, warm and loose and pliant.

God, they were going to kill him, and he was more than okay with it.

“Mm, Dean,” Castiel hummed, his voice a warm burr of contentment that sent a sharp bolt of arousal down Dean’s spine. He reached back and pulled at Dean’s hip with one hand, weakly, like his orgasm had sapped all the grace out of him, and that was all the encouragement Dean needed. He fucked into Cas like Cas had done to Sam earlier, like he was just a warm body to use, and even the thought made his toes curl and his balls draw up tight. He didn’t bother trying to last, not with both of them going sleepy and sated under him—hell, he was impressed he’d made it this long.

“C’mon, Dean,” Sam murmured. He had his face buried in his arm and his voice came out low and muffled, but as Dean watched he turned his head and gave his brother a dark little grin that managed to be content and teasing at the same time. “Gonna come for us?”

Cas, who had pulled Sam’s hair aside so he could nuzzle mindlessly at the back of Sam’s neck, seemed to decide this meant Dean needed some encouragement and began to rhythmically squeeze around Dean’s cock. Dean’s legs went stiff and his eyes widened as heat built in his pelvis, and then it just _broke,_ rushing out of him and into Cas in the kind of waves that seeped right down to his toes and up into the roots of his hair. Some twisted version of Sam and Cas’s names escaped him and then he just flopped onto Castiel’s back like someone had cut his strings, panting into the heated skin between the angel’s shoulder blades.

“Damn,” Dean breathed, his body giving one last shudder as the aftershocks washed through him. “That was awesome.”

Sam hummed his agreement, and Castiel did the same, so lowly that it almost sounded like he was purring. It gave Dean the ludicrous urge to pet him, and then he thought, fuck it. Couldn’t be the weirdest thing they’d done tonight. He slid one hand up and carded his fingers through Cas's hair, scratching lightly at his scalp and grinning when Castiel arched back into the touch.

“Dean?” Sam mumbled. “My knees are killing me.”

Dean snorted. His own weren’t that happy with him, and were starting to make that achingly plain now that the high was wearing off. “Yeah, we should—the hell is that noise?”

It was a kind of crashing, or maybe slosh—fuck!

“The fucking bathwater!” Dean yelled.

Dean was still all up in Cas and Cas was still inside Sam, so it took them an agonizingly long minute to untangle and scramble for the faucet, and by the time the taps had been shut off, the floor below them was so flooded that the water had seeped out into the living room and darkened the carpet.

It took Dean a moment to realize that the low rumble he was hearing behind him was Castiel laughing. He turned to stare incredulously over his shoulder and was met with a big grin and crinkled eyes alight with amusement and okay, he’d flood the whole damn hotel if it made Cas look like that.

Sam was starting to laugh, too, shaking his head and burying his face in his hands, and Dean broke out in helpless chuckles.

“So much for two more days here,” Dean sighed around a smile—but between one blink and the next, the flooding had vanished and the water in the tub was down to a reasonable level, piled high with fluffy mounds of brightly colored bubbles.

There were definite advantages to banging an angel.

*

“I had plans, you know,” Sam sighed a short time later, brow furrowing into a grumpy little frown as he settled against the curved edge of the tub. “You and your sneaky fingering—”

He didn’t get any more words out because Dean snorted so hard he slipped and nearly went under the mountains of bubbles. Cas, still eying said bubbles doubtfully from his crouched position at the edge of the tub, chuckled and reached in to haul Dean upright.

“Dude, did you seriously just say sneaky fingering?” Dean sniggered, swiping bubbles off his face and flicking them at his brother. Like Sammy could really complain about being fucked by an angel. Yeah, what a horrible way to have his little plans ruined.

Sam half-heartedly splashed back, and lost his attempts at grouchiness under a warm burst of laughter. “Shut up. Cas, get in here while it’s still warm.”

Doubtfully, Castiel poked a bubble. “I don’t understand the purpose of these.”

Almost as one, Dean and Sam reached up and each grabbed one of Castiel’s wrists.

“It’s fun,” Sam said.

“Like what we just did,” Dean added.

“Oh,” Castiel started, and then let out the most undignified yelp Dean had ever heard from him when the brothers yanked him unceremoniously into the tub. Water sloshed over the edge and suds cascaded into the air, glittering as they caught the light. Castiel came up sputtering, swiping bubbles out of his eyes, but as he settled in his expression softened into something pleasantly surprised.

“Oh,” he said again, warmer this time. “This is… nice.”

“Told ya.”

Using the grip he still had on Castiel’s wrist, Sam tugged until the angel was settled against his right side. Dean moved to press up against Sam’s left without any prompting, humming contentedly when Sam tossed an arm around his shoulders. Surprisingly, or maybe thanks to some additional angel-mojo, the tub accommodated all three of them easily. He pressed a sloppy kiss to Sam’s jaw and reached over to card his fingers through Castiel’s hair, grinning when they both gave soft little sighs.

“We got time for your plans, Sammy.”

Sam went very still, and Dean realized what he’d just said. And sure, they had two more days here in the hotel, but that wasn’t what he meant and they both knew it.

Both of them looked at Cas, who lifted up his head just enough to return their gaze. He gave a little smile full of crinkles around the eyes and, because he’d clearly been taking lessons from Sam the Sap, said—

“We have all the time in the world.”

END

**Author's Note:**

> “Cas?”
> 
> “Mm?”
> 
> “You freaked at the brothel. There’s no way you were up there watching dudes finger each other.”
> 
> “…fine, the internet taught me.”
> 
> “You googled that?”
> 
> “Yes, Dean. I asked the google.”
> 
> “The google…!”
> 
> “Sam?”
> 
> “Yeah, Cas?”
> 
> “Put something in your brother’s mouth.”


End file.
